The Chronicles of Mayella Ewell
by katie98ification
Summary: The events of the trial plot of TKAM told from Mayella's perspective.
1. Being a Ewell

"Be nice to that schoolteacher of yours", I said, attempting to wipe just one of the many smudges of dirt off my little brother's face, and then tousling his hair. A few bugs jumped out as I did so.

"Aww, you know I'm jus' a pleasure to have in class" Burris replied, grinning that mischievous little grin of his, and then bounding out the door in the direction of town.

I rolled my eyes and smiled. It was the first day of school, which meant that Burris would, as always, show up, raise hell for some poor unsuspecting young first-grade teacher, and come back home, not to show up for another year. It keeps the truant officers off him if he shows up that one day; when it comes to us Ewells, you take what you can get. Anyone who tries to get us to do something we don't want to do is fighting a losing battle. My daddy hunts out of season all he wants. This is what comes with being a Ewell.

Thinking about my father made my stomach hurt a little bit. He was real, real drunk last night, and it wasn't a pretty picture. There was now a bruise on my arm and a cut on my little sister's leg. This also comes with being a Ewell.

But today, my father was nowhere to be found. The sun was shining and the birds were singing and our ramshackle house was relatively clean. I plopped myself down on the chair in our front yard As far as days go, this was shaping up to be a good one. Taking whatever small shred of happiness and fulfillment you could find, well, I guess you could say that also comes with being a Ewell.

I know it sounds strange to live this way. The rest of Maycomb looks at us as more like animals than people, and maybe that's why we act that way. Maybe we're just born like this, wild and uncontrollable and dirty, and that's why Maycomb looks at us this way. Chicken or egg, I try not to think about it to much. We are who we are, and yeah, I guess it'd be nice to have a daddy that tells you he loves you or brothers and sister's who went to school every day, or maybe a friend my own age, but I don't. I have a father who hunts out of season, gets drunk and hits us, brothers and sisters who run wild around the household, bored out of their minds and lonely (no one is ever going to let their child play with a Ewell kid. Hell will freeze over before I see little Burris or one of 'em playing with one of the kids from town or even a country kid, even a Cunningham. Those Cunninghams are poorer than poor but they have their dignity, and even town folks respect 'em. Us Ewells have no dignity, no respect, and that is what makes us Ewells), and I've never even met a single person my own age. It must sound so strange to someone else, but this is how it's always been.

My name is Mayella Ewell, and this is my life.


	2. Tom Robinson

The rest of the day went on without incident, until around mid afternoon. As usual, I was doing all the work and the kids were running around, making a mess and causing trouble. The screeching sound of a cat being tortured mixed with the sound of my drunken father yelling at a tree. In other words, it was a perfectly normal day.

The kids and my father were in the back yard, and I was in the front, chopping wood for a fire, when I saw a man approaching our yard. He was not a stranger; at least, I knew that his name was Tom Robinson. He was a colored man, and on that one principle my father hated him. Looking back on the whole incident all these months later, I think that my father just liked having someone to look down on, when everyone in the world was looking down on him. I also know that never in the world has there been a man as good and noble and worthy of respect as Tom Robinson, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

As I was saying, Tom Robinson walked up to our yard, and, to my surprise, asked "Miss Mayella, would you like any help?"

Now wasn't _this_ an interesting turn of events! A man, a nice, perfectly respectable black man talking to the daughter of the most racist and least respected man in town. I was so taken by surprise that all I could do was blush and say "Why yes, Tom, thank you! Thank you very much!"

Tom climbed over the fence and walked over to me. He picked up the other hatchet and began to chop wood beside me, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. We labored on in awkward silence for a while. After about an hour, I wiped my brow and said "You mus' be goin' now, I don' want to keep you from your family. Thank you so much for doin' this, Tom. It was real nice of you."

Tom looked at me, almost surprised "Why, it's no problem, Miss Mayella. You looked like you needed some help." He shrugged, as though he often spent an hour helping people he never met chop wood.

I thought about offering him some money, but somehow that seemed wrong. Good manners got the better of me, though, and I found myself digging into the pocket of my apron and pulling out a shiny nickel, and handing it to him.

He looked at it, almost surprised. I immediately felt silly. Was a nickel a bad amount? Had I insulted him? Worse, why did I _care_ so much? Tom was just a nice man who was helping me do some work; why was he making me so nervous? Of course, he was rather good-looking… I stopped myself. What was the matter with me? A Ewell shouldn't find a black man attractive, not ever, not in a million years. My father would kill me if he knew that crossed my mind.

Trying to make it right, I held out the nickel and explained "It's not intended as payment, Tom, just thanks. I'm sorry I can't give you more, it's jus'…" I looked down at my feet, suddenly embarrassed at our extreme poverty. "It…It wouldn't feel right givin' you nothin'…I jus'….not trying to insult you, it's jus'…".

Tom smiled and took the nickel. "Thank you, Miss Mayella. I would've done it for free, but thank you." With that, he smiled at me, causing a strange flutter in my stomach that at the time I didn't understand, walked to the fence, climbed over it, and continued on his way home.

What _was _that? What had just transpired on this strange summer day? Had Tom Robinson just reached out tp help the daughter of Bob Ewell?

A strange feeling came over my and stayed with me for the rest of the day. You see, being _cared _about was not something I often experienced. It felt weird and strange to be noticed by the outside world as someone more than just a poor, dirty, Ewell girl. To Tom, I was a person, a young lady who needed help chopping wood. It made me confused and excited and surprised and shocked and mostly happy. Really, really, blissfully happy.

I decided I wanted to see him again. I reached into my apron pocket and pulled out a few pennies. Even more insulting, but it was dealing with the embarrassment or never feeling this way again. I knew what I was going to do.


	3. The Second Visit

Chapter Three

The next day rolled around. Afternoon came, and I was, as usual, working in the front yard and trying to avoid my father, when I saw Tom coming down the path again. I grinned.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the pennies. I was about to call "Oh, Tom! Could you help me with this?" But I didn't have to. As soon as Tom saw me out working, he stopped by the fence and smiled at me. "Could you use some help there, Miss Mayella?"

Okay, so this was too weird.

One day of it was strange enough, but two? In a row? Why was this stranger being so nice to me? I was a Ewell, for Christ's sake. No one cared about us. Why did he?

"Um, y-yes, please!" I stammered, as Tom climbed over the fence.

We worked awkwardly and quietly for the next hour, when I paid him the few pennies and thanked him. He thanked me for the money and left. When I was handing him the money, my fingers grazed his. For some inexplicable reason, this made very happy.

He smiled, and then looked at me. "You look pretty today," he said casually.

_Pretty._

In all of my eighteen years, I had never, ever, ever been called pretty.

I blushed and giggled a little. "Th-thank you!" I squeaked, and then blushed more as I realized how stupid I must have sounded.

Tom chuckled, and said "You're welcome. Have a nice day!"

"You too, " I said in a faraway sort of voice, as Tom hopped over the fence and headed home. 


	4. Love

Chapter Four: Love

Love is not a thing that was easy for a Ewell like me to understand. Hell, it's hard enough for the average person, and about twice as hard when not even your family shows any signs of affection towards you.

But, from my very, very small experience in the ways of love, I had worked out that there were four kinds. I was looked upon by most people as something of an idiot, especially by my father, but I had a knack for what I would later learn, when I was freed from all of this, was called philosophy. I liked thinking, particularly about abstract things like love. So I shall tell you now my philosophy on love, which I thought about that day in the smaller, less expressive words I knew back then.

The first kind was the love one has for a friend, an equal. Someone you enjoy being around, and someone you care about deeply. That was the kind of love I had for my brothers and sisters, although I wasn't sure they cared so much about me. That kind of love gets very little attention, but from what I can tell, it's the most unselfish, the most pure, the most unlikely love there is. Of course, having never really had a friend, I wouldn't really know.

The second kind was the love one has for someone that needs you, or that you need. The love a parent has for a child, or a child for that parent. It was compassionate, protective, giving. It was exactly the kind of love that my father did not have for me. Thinking about it that way made me quite sad, but that was the way things were.

Then there was the third kind of love, that as far as I can tell doesn't seem like love at all. Lust, desire, attraction, whatever you want to call it- loving a person's outsides rather than their insides. After much reflection on why this thing that, while wonderful and beautiful all on it's own, had very little to do with the first two was still classified as love, I realized that it must be because the most socially respectable situation in which you can have this kind of love for someone is with someone you have other kinds of love for.

Which brings me to the fourth kind of love. The fourth kind of love is, quite simply, the first three kinds combined, along with some other element that I cannot explain. It was the combination of loving someone as a friend, depending on them as a parent does a child as well as protecting them, and lusting after them that formed this fourth kind. It is the kind known as "being '_in_ love'". The kind that people write silly poems about, the kind that makes people get married. The kind that produces babies, although unfortunately the third kind all by itself can do that, too. The first and third kind were often mistaken for the fourth, but only someone who has truly experied Type Four can really identify it.

And that's what I thought about after Tom left that day. Did I just love him the first way, because he was so nice and I appriecated his help? Did I just love him the second way, because he cared about me more than my own father did, and I depended on him? But neither of those could be it, because, as hard as it was for me to admit it to myself, I also loved him the thirds way, and then there was that feeling I got yesterday, and today, when our fingers touched- that fourth element that, when added to the first three (God, I sounded like a scientist), means that you are in the fourth kind of love. I figured it all out over the course of the next week or so, as Tom stopped by every day to help me. And I came to the inevitable conclusion.

I was in love with Tom Robinson.

And that's when it all went wrong.

Chapter Five

I probably sounded somewhat eloquent in that last chapter, but please remember that when all this really happened, I was an ignorant southern girl, who, while had succsefully figured out her feelings for Tom, still didn't know any real way of expressing them. So back we go to the story, in which I, like many girls before and to follow me, made a complete fool of myself for love.

I sat in the kitchen. The summer had turned into autumn, and I sat there that November, thinking about Tom.  
I knew he had a wife. I knew he had a family. I knew I was only just eighteen and I knew that there was no way for us to be together. I didn't care. Those were all logical, practical problems, and


	5. The Chiffarobe

_This is it._ Mayella thought, as she watched her brothers and sisters run down the mountain and into town. _Showtime._

She craned her neck and saw Tom, wonderful Tom coming down the road to her house. With the solemn knowledge that the next few minutes would make it or break it, and that her life over the past few months has been leading up to this day, she put on a smile, raised her arm, waved, and called out "Oh, Tom!"

Tom stopped and looked at her, smiling. "What can I do for ya, Miss Mayella?  
"Oh, Tom, could you please bust up a chiffarobe for me? I'll give you a nickel." Mayella said, batting her eyelashes and stopping when she realized that she looked ridiculous.

"Sure, Miss. Where would this chiffarobe be?"

"Inside."

Tom climbed over the fence and the two of them walked inside. "Here it is," Mayella said as she pointed to an old chiffarobe. "Could you bring it outside and bust it up for me?"

"Why, sure, Miss Mayella." And he did.

When the work was done, Mayella realized that she'd need to keep him there a little bit longer if she was going to make her move. "Oh, Tom," she said, as he was about to climb over the fence again.

"Yes, Miss?"

"I'm so sorry to bother you, Tom, but could you please do one more thing for me?"

"Sure." Tom followed her back into the house. "Where are all those brothers ' sisters o' yours?"

"I… I sent them all into town to get ice cream today."

Tom raised his eyebrows. "Why, that's mighty nice o' you, Miss Mayella. Must a took you a long time to save up enough money."

Mayella blushed and shrugged, not wanting to admit to the truth of that statement.

"Now, what is it you want me to do?" Tom asked.

"You see that box up there?" Mayella pointed to a little box on top of a dresser.

"Yesm',"

"Could you please get it down for me? I'm not tall enough."

"Why, sure, Miss Mayella, that'll be no trouble a 'tall."

There was a chair in front of the dresser. Tom climbed up on it and was reaching up to grab the box.

Mayella looked at him, thinking. She realized that it was now or never when a horrible thought came over her. A horrible doubt, the knowledge that she didn't have the guts, she didn't have the courage to kiss a married black man, that Tom was just being nice and didn't love her the way she loved him, that she was just a silly, stupid girl with a crush.

And she just had to prove herself wrong.

With one passionate, awkward motion, she flung her arms around Tom's legs and knocked him down.

And it happened. She was with Tom, kissing him. Holding him and kissing him and letting the whole world know that she, Mayella Ewell, was in love and not afraid to show it.

"Let go! Get off me!" a horrified Tom exclaimed, struggling. Mayella ignored him.

"I ain't never kissed a grown man before," she moaned, "what my daddy do to me don't count."

And for one passionate second, Mayella was getting what she wanted.

And then she looked up.

And saw her father, drunk, looking through the window.

And it was the end of the world

The next few minutes flew by in a blur. There was screaming and yelling and running around, and Mayella sat there, praying, knowing that no matter what, she had gotten her kiss, but also knowing that her love was not requited, that her father was going to do unspeakable things to her, and that Tom's days were numbered and it was all her fault. But somehow, none of that was sinking in, probably because she could still taste him and smell him and was reliving that sweet moment in her head.

And then she looked up and saw her drunken father standing over her. He was drunker than she had ever seen him, and angry. Hell, angry, that's the understatement of the century. But he wasn't normal angry. He was drunken angry, and the anger compounded the drunkenness and the drunkenness compounded the anger and made him do things that didn't make sense, and the next thing she knew, Mayella was being beaten. Her father's hands were around her neck, choking her, and now he was punching her face and then he threw her on the floor. And then, he raped her.

He raped her.

On October 7th, 1938, Robert Ewell raped his daughter. That is what happened. Those are the facts, that is the truth and that will never change. Robert Ewell beat and raped Mayella Ewell and it is burned into the history of the world forever. Because things like that cannot be taken back.

I wish I could tell you some real profound, interesting tidbit about rape or incest or whatever. I can't because nothing that horrible has ever happened to me. But I can tell you that while this was happening, all Mayella could think was "I am being raped by my father. Those seven words should never be true. But they are when you're a Ewell, when you're a dirty, stinking Ewell and nobody cares about you and nobody looks out for you and you're scum and you know it. But Tom cared and Tom looked out for me and now Tom's gone forever and I'm being raped by my father and not for the first time. What is this life?"

When he was finished, Mayella got up and left. She ran into the back yard and cried. Cried for herself and for Tom and for the mess her life was and probably always would be. She could hear the voices of her brother's and sister's in the background.

"Daddy, what's wrong?" said her little brother.

The only thing she heard after that was a muffled _whump_ and the sound of a little boy crying.

She burst into tears again.

"He raped you," said Bob Ewell the next morning. "He had his way with you and we're gonna take it to court."

Mayella's jaw dropped. He couldn't be serious. "Tom didn't touch me. I threw myself on…"

"He…raped…you. He raped my little girl and now he's going to pay."

Was… was he insane?

"Daddy…" but there was no use arguing with a crazy man.

"I called the police last night. Told 'em that Tom Robinson fella had raped my girl. Told 'em about how I saw you through the window."

Mayella swallowed nervously . She knew that her father had seen exactly what had happened, and she knew that he was lying. But he said it with such conviction, that it was almost hard not to believe him.

Of course, she didn't. She had been there and she knew what happened. She wondered how they could possibly win a case against Tom Robinson, seeing as the whole town hated them and Tom was well-respected.

"Well, goodbye, then. I'm off to talk to my lawyer. You'll have to come the next time."

"Okay," Mayella murmered, not all quite there. She stared at the spot on the floor where it, well, happened. How could her father do something like that? How could any man be so vile and racist? What was the matter with him?

Burris bounded up to her, a big grin on his little freckled face. "I know 'bout what happened yesterday."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. That man Tom Robinson did somethin' baa-aad to you, and Daddy's havin' a downright fit. We're gonna go to court!" The boy sounded almost excited, and in a strange way Mayella couldn't blame him. There lives were so monotonous that anything that shook them up was exciting. A rape case? Well, damn, around the Ewell household that must have felt like Christmas.

But not to Mayella, of course.

"We're gonna have a lawyer n' everythin'! It's gonna be the most excitin' thing to happen 'round here since-"

"Shut up." Mayella said.

"…What?"

"I told you to shut up. You have NO idea what happened last night, Burris! None of you do! I was _raped_ , Burris! _Raped_. You know what that means?"

Burris shook his head.

"Well, I ain't gonna be the one to tell you, but it's nothin' for you to get all excited 'bout. People aren't supposed to live this way, Burris. I know that now."

"What way?"

Poor Burris. Poor, poor Burris had no idea that the way they lived was wrong. He had to have some sort of inkling that it was different, that it was not the way that other families lived, but little Burris had never had a Tom in his life; never someone to show him that there was more to life than this.

"Never mind, Burris. Run off and play now."

Burris shrugged his shoulders and ran out the door.

I don't have to tell you that this began the beginning of a very strange time in the Ewell household. Bob got drunk nearly twice as often, and with the increase in his alcoholism came an increase in the beatings. Myabe hitting his kids was his way of feeling strong when the whole world seemed to hate him. Or maybe his was just a complete asshole.

Either way, there was much talk of the law in the following months. A man named Mr. Gilmer came over often, and talked to Bob about what happened and what they would do in court. One day, he finally talked to Mayella.


End file.
